


The Haunting of the Archive

by hypnoshatesme



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27300781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme
Summary: What happens when your resident ghost and your local monster get bored on halloween? Mischief.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	The Haunting of the Archive

**Author's Note:**

> eyyyyyyyy Happy Halloween! Today's prompt was just "Halloween" and I took it as a cue to write an older idea of mine :)

Jon didn’t even look up when the file in his hand started floating. He had heard plenty from the others that morning and had been expecting something to happen.

He sighed. “Hello, Gerry.”

He didn’t see it as much as felt the file twist in the air, falling into itself and Jon found himself holding a different file, the same, except the text kept twitching. He sighed again.

“And Michael.”

He felt it appear even before he finally looked up from the paper that was melting between his fingers, ears popping with static as Michael seemingly appeared out of nowhere in front of his desk. The audible chuckle wasn’t Michael’s, though, but Gerry’s, translucent form manifesting on Jon’s desk, sat on the file that was now back on the table and had probably never been anywhere else. Both were giving Jon a disappointed look, though Michael’s face was still unreadable and Jon felt weary at the realisation that he dealt with it so much he could still tell that its face was pulled into a scowl.

“You are no fun,” Gerry said, picking up the file he was sitting on and skimming it. “It’s all the same anyways.”

“It’s still my job to read them.”

“But it’s Halloween,” Michael pointed out.

Jon frowned at the sound of its voice. “Don’t remind me.”

Gerry sighed, leaning back with a pout. “None of the others reacted, either. Not even Martin.”

Jon started sorting the files on his desk again, unsure if they had been this messy a moment before. “After all you two do on a regular basis here you can’t blame him for being somewhat used to it.”

“Boring,” Michael mumbled, poking Jon’s desk with its finger. It warped around it, curling into itself.

He looked up, avoiding looking directly at Michael and focussing on Gerry instead. “I’d appreciate it if you two would just find something else to entertain yourselves with today. It’ll be busy.”

It was Michael who answered him. “Of course.”

Its voice was amused as always, and Jon knew looking at its face would not help with figuring out if it was being serious. He wasn’t even sure Michael  _ could _ be serious. Instead, he scrutinized Gerry’s expression, difficult to read with how translucent it was, but still clearer than Michael’s. Gerry only gave him an amused grin before dissolving into thin air. Jon felt Michael’s absence before he saw the empty space it had been standing in. Jon decided to warn the others. He wasn’t sure about what exactly, but he knew that grin probably meant trouble.

Gerry and Michael came to the conclusion that, since everybody working in the archives was too used to their shenanigans, they had to find new targets. The statement givers that flowed in and out all day seemed to be ideal. Most of them already slightly on edge and those who were just there to give a fake story for fun would leave with something real to haunt them. It was perfect.

They weren’t subtle, and it became very clear to everybody taking statements that today would just be extra stressful with things randomly floating, doors that weren’t there creaking open - and sometimes the actual door, too - the statement givers often getting distracted by hearing some whispering, or simply losing track completely of what they were saying, sometimes even of where they were and why they were.

Sasha knew the man she had been trying to take the statement from for the better part of an hour had lost track again even before he furrowed his brows at her.

“Excuse me, what...what were you saying?”

Her smile was steady. “Nothing, sir. You were talking about an...encounter.”

A moment of silence as he looked around the room. “Are you...sure?”

“Yes, we didn’t get beyond the date and you were describing where exactly it was, some kind of old bookstore in central London?”

His face slowly settled into an expression of recognition. “Ah, of course, I’m...I’m sorry-” He frowned again and went silent for a moment, looking around before looking at her in confusion. “W...what were we doing?”

Sasha smiled. “Do you maybe need a coffee?”

“I’m...I’m not sure…”

“I’ll be back in a moment.” She got up and left the room to get herself a coffee. 

Sasha was sure he would be gone by the point she’d be back. The last two people she’d been taking statements from had also left midway. She heard the faint echo of Michael’s laughter on her way to the break room.

“Are you  _ sure _ you’re not hearing that...that noise?”

Tim did, but he also was rather familiar with blocking it out and not going to bother to try and explain it. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, yes.”

It came again, a noise neither of them had ever really managed to describe, like a tuning fork, maybe, but not quite. It was always in the background when Gerry was around, distorted his voice into something more ghostly. It usually wasn’t too bad, but he had figured out how to play around with it a while ago and it could get rather noticeable. 

The woman seated in front of him tensed. “There! There it was again! Louder, even.”

“I still don’t think I hear anything.”

She didn’t look like she was listening to him, eyes nervously darting to the corners of the room. “This...it’s an old building, right?”

“Sure is,” Tim confirmed. “You did want to tell me about a different old building, should we continue?”

The pen neither of them had touched since sitting down suddenly rolled off the table, hitting the floor with a thud. She jumped out of her seat, eyes wide as she stared at it.

“I...I need to go.” She was out of the door before Tim could say anything.

Not that he would have. He really didn’t care. He stretched with a sigh and considered whether he should get another cup of coffee before the next person. Tim wasn’t surprised to find Gerry grinning at him from across the table the next time he blinked.

“Don’t you want to pick up your pen?”

Tim grinned. “So you can throw it off the table for the next person?”

“‘I’m sure I have no idea what you mean’,” Gerry quoted in a pretty shit imitation of Tim’s voice that made them both laugh.

  
  


“The...the tea is cold.”

Martin hadn’t even sat down again from getting the cup. “Oh, I’m...I’m sorry, should I get you another one?”

He watched as they frowned into the cup. “It hadn’t been cold when I touched the mug, I...what…?”

“Maybe a drift?” Martin offered, and regretted it instantly since apparently it was taken as a suggestion, an actual drift going through the room. He bit back a sigh.

They looked around the room with a shiver, and froze. “There...are no windows.”

The door creaked open, much louder than it had been a moment ago when Martin had come in with the tea. Also significantly more yellow.

He felt like he had spent all day trying to come up with excuses for such things and he mainly sounded tired when he said, “Sorry, uh...that door never closes right, let me just-”

They sprang to their feet, nearly upsetting the tea as they bumped into the table. “No, actually, I...I think I’ll, uh...come back another day.”

“Oh, okay,” he didn’t sound too upset about it. Martin hadn’t managed to take a full statement all day. “Are you sure?”

He watched them quickly walk through the now brown - and closed - door, sure they probably hadn’t even heard him. He looked at the now empty chair with a sigh, noticing the scarf that had been thrown over the back of the chair minutes ago. He took it and followed, convinced he probably wouldn’t catch them, not with them basically running.

Jon leaned back against the wall with a heavy sigh, running his hands over his face. It had taken nearly two hours to get the last statement. Again and again, he had to pull the statement giver back to reality, only for then having to reassure them that it was okay, no matter how many things seemed to be mysteriously moving in the room. No matter how often there seemed to be a faint chuckle in the air.

“You look tired, archivist.”

He was beyond caring about the faint headache settling behind his eyes at the sound of its voice. “Yes. I’m thinking about how most of the people who left today will probably be back for another statement soon.”

“It will be a true one, at least,” Gerry supplied.

“True, but useless.” He opened his eyes, looking from one to the other. “This was just unnecessary.”

“It was  _ fun _ .” Gerry shrugged. “And didn’t you want real statements? If anything, we gave you a future buffet.” 

Gerry tried to pet Jon’s shoulder but his hand went right through, his face falling for the briefest moment. It took a lot of focus for him to have enough substance to touch, and it was always a harsh reminder of reality when he failed to do so. Michael caught his disappointed expression and pet Jon’s shoulder in his stead. Its fingers caught in the fabric, ripping it slightly. 

“You won’t go hungry for a good while,” it added.

Jon touched his shoulder, but the rips didn’t go through to skin. He grumbled, “This was my favourite shirt…”

“Jon? Do you want a last cup of tea?” All of them looked up as Martin rounded the corner, coming to an awkward stop at the realisation that it looked like he had interrupted something. “I’m sorry, uh-”

“Yes, Martin, I could go for some tea,” Jon interrupted, detaching himself from the wall and walking past Gerry and Michael, towards Martin.

Martin’s smile looked a bit confused, and it fell when he noticed Jon’s ripped shirt. “Oh, what happened to your shirt…?”

Jon didn’t stop and Martin fell in step besides him. “Michael did.”

Gerry and Michael watched them leave, sharing a satisfied grin.

“Guess today’s done.”

Michael nodded, and held out its hand. “Are you coming?”

He didn’t put his hand in Michael’s, not wanting to feel that disappointment again. Instead, he just let it hover above its palm. “Sure.”

Michael’s fingers folded over it, not quite touching. They were used to not-quite-handholding by now and Gerry knew how to match its movements as they walked through the door without breaking the illusion. 

It still made him smile, the effort Michael went through to pretend-hold his hand. It would have probably been heartwarming, had Gerry still had a heart. But he still appreciated it, and in the hallway, when it was generally easier to hold a more solid form since Michael could actively help with that, he’d make sure to squeeze Michael’s hand in a silent ‘thank you’, as usual.


End file.
